The Music Never Ends
by Amanda Lord
Summary: Completely AU: There always seem like a thousand reasons that they shouldn't be together. It never matters. She always runs back to him. He always waits. WARNING: Human AU. BS. Death. Drugs tastefully done. Drinking. Divorce. Hapiness. Sadness.
1. Prolouge

A/N: This is a story from awhile ago, completely AU…the first part is done the second halfway. Let me know how you like it.

Anne Finn always listened to talk radio, nothing else.

She always drove her shiny new tan SUV and let the drone of politics and social commentaries fill her car. If asked, which she never was, she would laugh and say that she always had listened to talk radio because she hated music stations. She actually hated music in general.

Which wasn't entirely true.

For Anne Finn didn't listen to music, but Anne Finn had only existed for three years.

Anne Finn was perfectly constructed though. She was the successful owner of _Summer_, an elite line of cosmetics that were bright and cheery. She was the wife of a General in the Army and she lived in the posh suburb of Sunnydale, California. Her house was light and airy and obsessively clean. Everyone said she was golden. She was touched by the sun and by Midas.

But her existence in the sunlight wasn't entirely true.

In her purse there were fragments of truth. If her bag was examined closely, which it never was, one could find the remnants of those who had paid life's tolls in order that Anne Finn could exist.

There was a snapshot of two girls. One was light and one was dark and they both stopped people on the street. Even as children, even through the awkward teen years they were stunners. They were three years apart, but most people simply considered them twins. They had lost their mother before either one of them could create a solid memory, so they were always referred to as Hank Chase's daughters.

Cordelia was the eldest and the charmer. There wasn't anyone she couldn't wrap around her finger. Elizabeth Anne was quieter, but she was a spark. They had been happy children, even with the constant influx of changing stepmothers.

If asked, which she never was, she would simply say that they don't exist anymore.

Which is almost true.

One was lost to excess and the other was lost to reality.

In the purse there was also a thin disk with the word Harris on it. For a short time there had been a bleak eyed woman who had given up on hope and given up on love. She had shown up on the doorstep of Xander Harris' household and he had taken her in. If fate had been kinder he would have been her brother, but the pair of them had learned that life wasn't happy or soft. He had given her his name and his home. For a little while he was the brother that she had been denied.

Between Elizabeth and Liz there had been another, but there was no piece of her in the purse.

Mrs. Buffy Summers existed somewhere long ago. Buffy had been alive and had demanded darkness and light. She had felt all that life had to offer and she always wanted more.

Which can and cannot be a good thing.

Anne didn't need reminders of her, she carried Buffy much closer than her purse. There was a scar on her heart that had never ceased to ache.

Buffy had loved music.

Which is why Anne abhorred it.

And that was the truth.

Anne Finn drove on another of her ordinary days, it didn't matter that the sun was shining on her, like it always did. It didn't matter that everything around her was blooming or that she was happy. It didn't matter that she wore pastels and was the very picture of suburbia.

When there is a bullet out there with your name on it you can't outrun it.

Because even as she mired herself with the background of talk radio, the life that she had been fighting to hide from found her anyways.

"_Rocker Spike formerly of the band Big Bad and more recently a solo artist, has been in a motorcycle crash. Born William Summers, this legendary partier and womanizer, has always led a fast life. Now his need for speed has found him head over heels on his motorcycle. He was found unconscious by a motorist and rushed to the hospital. His status is critical and there was extensive damage to his body. The only news that we have received puts Spike in critical condition. There is no further information."_

Anne Finn felt her heart constrict. She pulled over on the side of the road. She couldn't tell you how she had gotten there.

Anne Finn couldn't tell you how her cell phone ended up in her hands. She didn't know how she knew the numbers she was dialing. Anne Finn didn't have a single reason to be freaking out on the edge of the highway.

But Buffy Summers did. Buffy Summers had every right to panic. She had endured too many emergencies. She had seen too many hospitals.

The first number she called led to a voicemail. She had to hang up, she didn't know how to formulate the proper sentence. The second number was disconnected. She tried the third number that had once been a familiar friend. She closed her eyes. She had to do this.

_In an Interlude. After they met, just before fame._

Buffy lay back against the comfortable curve of his shoulder. She pulled her leg over his and pulled herself closer to his side. She loved the feeling of the curve of his shoulder bone against her cheek. She loved the way that breathing caused his chest to expand in time with the beating of her heart. She loved to feel him. She always wanted to be as close to him as possible, which explained their incessant desire to be having sex.

They lay in the mattress on the floor. This had become their haven after they realized that the constant pounding of the headboard could be heard through out the building.

Buffy let her fingers roam over his chest. His body didn't look particularly lovely, splotches of blue and red marred the pale skin. The fight tonight had been about some guy who was too drunk and Spike too brash to stop. It wasn't a daily occurrence, but it happened more often than Buffy liked.

They both knew that this was an interlude. This was an interlude before morning, between the bursts of reality and the delusion of parties. This was time between the constant demand of the music and the drone of the silence. This was just them.

Buffy could feel his pulse speed up beneath her cheek as she ever so lightly traced the contours of his abs.

They also knew that this was an interlude between their favorite indulgence, sinful delectable mind bending sex.

It was an interlude.

Buffy lightly traced the outline of the six stitches under his bandage. The stitches had only recently been placed and hadn't yet begun to heal.

"Why didn't you stay?" she asked him, "The doctor said something about concussions and observation."

She shifted and propped herself up on her hand. She looked down at him with those clear green eyes.

He had the witty retort ready. He was renowned for his flip answers, but now was an interlude. Now wasn't the time for such comments. He saw the concern in her eyes and he knew why he loved her.

She always wanted to know more of him. She was swallowing him whole and he wanted to encourage her on. He loved her fire. His drive had been for fame, it had driven him from London to New York to LA in a haze of music and booze. But that need was quelled as long as he could feel her radiance.

For a moment he didn't speak. He didn't have to be sarcastic or witty. He didn't have to be Spike with her. He could just be William Summers.

He traced the outline of her face, too in awe to speak right away.

Her lips formed a sad smile and he knew that he was loved.

"I can't wake up in hospitals anymore," he admitted.

Admissions cost him nothing with her. She was the only place in the world that he just was.

She touched his heart, a place that wasn't black or blue, a place that he would eternally think of as hers.

It gave him the strength to continue.

"I can't. I've woken up in too many hospital beds. One more would break me."

She didn't say anything because she already knew. She knew the stories before she had ever met the man. As wild, as madcap, as impossible as those stores were, they were all true.

He had fought often and hard, drank and drugged until he was a raging tornado, and screwed more girls in more places than was probably healthy.

He saw the hurt and confusion in her green eyes and he prayed that he would be able to take that away from her. She may reside in the darkness with him, but there was something about her that would never be tainted. He loved the honesty in her eyes.

"After…" he trailed off and didn't say it. He didn't really want to bring up an ex when she was curled up next to him. It seemed sacrilegious. He conveyed enough with a look that she understood. That other woman had shown him leather and punk rock, but he hadn't gotten big enough fast enough. The other woman had left for someone with more fame and more money.

Less was more and he prayed that she understood.

"After all of that I fell into every cesspool in New York that had ever offered me. Before I hadn't taken them up on their offers because I didn't want to bring her into places like that. I didn't want to be like that with her. With her gone I could do what I liked and that was everything. There are more police reports than memories of that year. Every few weeks I'd end up in the hospital. A few over the top fights, too many pills, too much powder, forgetting to eat for a few weeks, I was falling apart. Each time I'd wake up, at some hospital and stare up at the ceiling before someone would come and get me. Sometimes I'd be restrained, some times not, but it didn't matter it constantly got worse, as if I was being closed in. I couldn't get away. About eleven months ago I woke up with the post haze of Xanax, Valium, and a bottle of Jack. I knew before opening my eyes that this was the last time. I would never wake up in a hospital bed again. If I found myself there that would be the end. If I found myself staring up at another one of those ceilings I was going to kill myself."

He could feel her lips on his forehead and warm tears touched his face.

"Luv," he said hoarsely pulling her into his arms again. He ignored his screaming muscles and the jarring that this action caused. He held her close to his chest, praying that the stitches would hold, because he needed this, he needed her.

"Tis okay," he whispered, "That is when I got Ripper and Oz and we high tailed it to LA. That is when I found you."

He pulled away slightly and looked at her. He green eyes took in his exposed skin, putting it in the permanent memory base.

"You don't have to worry anymore," she told him quietly.

She watched him with the calm assurance that he never knew that anyone possessed.

"You will never be in that position again."

"Why not?" he asked, lips lilting into a grin, the snarky smirk that had made him well known and would go on to make him famous.

"Because I am here to keep you safe and if anything unfortunate were to happen you wouldn't wake up alone."

He kissed her softly as he tried to remind himself that Big Bads don't cry.

"Promise?" he asked against her lips.

"Promise."

_Now._

"Hello?"

The voice was weary and Buffy nearly dropped the phone. The voice was simply polished and upper class. She thought for a second that she had the wrong number.

"Ripper?"

The silence on the line was too deafening not to signal a correct number.

"Giles, its Buffy," she said softly, the names sounding strange on a tongue that had until just a few minutes ago been Anne Finn's.

"I know," the voice replied, sounding tired. She had never seen Ripper tired. He had always been older, but she had never seen him act like it. It seems that everyone had another name, another guise. Ripper had been a wild child of North London who had orchestrated some of the greatest punk groups. He had been brash and unpredictable and a little crazy.

Rupert Giles sounded like a businessman.

"Buffy this isn't a good idea," he said with a sigh, he knew what she was calling for. There was only one reason that she would call.

"Giles," Buffy interrupted, "Everything has changed for me over the past four years, and everything is perfect."

"I'm happy for you," he said dryly in the way only British people can say one thing in a flat tone and mean one of a thousand things.

"I don't want to, but I have to."

"Buffy it's been four years. You've moved on, let us deal with this."

She wanted to. She didn't want to back track. She didn't want to be making this call, but he had always been her compulsion.

"Giles, if he wakes up in that hospital room he's not going to make it through the week."

The sigh came again, "I know this, but it isn't your concern anymore. There is no need to bring both of you into this mess."

"It isn't your responsibility."

"And it stopped being yours a long time ago. You changed your name to hide from him. Don't do anything too rash, if you go you can't take it back. Do you realize what you are risking?"

Buffy rubbed the ridge of her nose. She knew this. She hoped that she was sure.

"Get me into that hospital," she told him, thinking of the swarm and the security that followed him where ever he went.

"And what do you suppose you can do to save him?"

Buffy bit her lip.

"Giles I am the only person in the world who has enough to save him."


	2. Past: The first encounter

Seven Years ago LA

Buffy danced to the inferno of the music. She had grown up surrounded by everything anyone could want, but this was home. All she needed was the minimal arrangement of chords.

She opened her eyes to the swirling chaos and caught sight of her sister. Cordelia smiled and held out her hand and Buffy took it.

On any given night you'd find the Chase sisters on the floor. They were part of the LA nightlife. Nicknamed 'Trouble,' there was no discernable method of knowing to whom the name belonged to. It was something that belonged to both of them. Hank Chase's daughters were a force to be reckoned with.

They had started sneaking out years ago to the basement clubs tucked away where no one ID'ed and the music was undiluted by record contracts. They liked their music loud and their boys bad.

They had reverted to their childhood nicknames. Cordelia had dubbed her shadow that was her little sister Buffy. Buffy had retaliated by calling Cordelia CorD, the Queen B. The names were incognito. They were a personality that existed only in the hallowed halls of the clubs.

There was a third member of the Chase sisters, one that was neither a sister nor a Chase. Cordelia had found him and fought with him for a week before she realized that she needed to have him around. She had take Alexander Harris, the boy from Oxnard and dubbed him Xander. He was always with them.

Buffy would watch her sister and Xander fight, and she always wondered why Cordelia wouldn't go anywhere without him. Buffy was attached to him as Cordelia was, but she still wondered what had drawn her snobby sister's eye to the clumsy bumbling boy who was hardly the elite sexy dressed to the nines man that Cordelia usually went for. Cordelia had seen something in him, though. He was good for diffusing stressful situations, coming up with something bizarre to do that only seemed like a good idea when one was drunk, and he was a great confidant, but they were weird.

They were a study in how to put the other one in a tizzy.

Her attention didn't hold on her partners in crime. It rarely did. It never took long for the beats to erase the stress. She carried her stress on her shoulders and at the end of some days it hurt. But the music massaged away the angriness and the unhappiness that she didn't dare herself to feel anywhere else.

Buffy danced to the music and felt alive.

&

Ten Minutes later, four feet over.

They walked in on top of the world.

They had fled New York a few months ago and LA welcomed them with open arms. The mediocre success that they had on the east coast was being easily translated on the west coast. They spilt their time between the studio and the night on the town.

Spike had found out about the club and they were taking a much-needed time to find something else for their album. The studio thought that they were taking too much research time, but they were having too much fun.

They stood in the middle of the club. They had a common pattern; it was one that they had kept hold to since their early days in New York. They would enter they would scope and then Devon would go to the darkened recesses and see what he could find to mess with his mind, usually powders, pills, and pot, but a woman would do if need be. Spike would head to the bar and proceed to create a masterpiece of insanity, drunkenness and he would always end up with his choice of women. Oz would usually listen to the music and drink in the ambiance; he had his job to do. Devon was the wild child behind his drums, Spike was the attitude behind the guitar and microphone, but the beats were all Oz's. He provided the band with backbone and sound.

He also was the cool head compared to his mates and the one who had the most awareness of what was going on.

But before they could go off to their corners something happened.

A flash of blonde caught Spike's eyes. Like a sleepwalker, Spike gravitated to the floor, with his eyes firmly trained on to the point on the floor.

Oz looked at Devon and Devon looked at Spike. Devon was so surprised he slowly took off his sunglasses. Oz ran his hand through his hair, which was blonde this week.

"This is new," Oz intoned.

"What is he doing?" Devon asked craning his neck to see what Spike was looking at. One of Devon's eyes went up when he saw something in the general vicinity of Spike's gaze and he nodded to the dark haired girl on the floor, "I like that one."

Oz pursed his lips, "That is new?"

"That one there," Devon said pointing, only Devon could get away with pointing. For some reason girls thought it was sexy.

Oz nodded in acknowledgement, "Impressive, she's breathing."

Oz's eyes were fixed on Spike as he stood on the edge of the dance floor. When Spike chose to listen to anyone he had an intensity that often made people loose their ability to remember what they were going to say. That look was typically guarded, but on the edge of the dance floor he had that focus that threatened to burn down the room

"Dude, he looks like he's starving and he's like seen a steak," Devon commented.

"Accurate enough," Oz agreed.

Devon looked heavenward, "Thank god, I thought Dru sucked all of his taste away. He's been fucking anything throwing itself at him. He needs to stop taking and start finding something he wants."

With a flourish Devon put on his sunglasses, "Now is my turn for the hunt."

"Wait," Oz said putting up a hand to stop Devon.

Devon looked at him over the tops of his sunglasses, "What's up?"

"Fifty bucks, sex on the premises."

It was a common thing to bet each other about anything.

Devon grinned, "As long as the alleyway is off premises."

"Deal."

Devon shrugged and made his way to the floor. Oz watched Spike who couldn't look away from the girl on the floor. Oz noted that he didn't look like a starving man. He looked like a man who had just discovered gold.

&

Buffy was in the midst of the crowd when she felt the prickle at the back of her neck. What she was doing had long ago ceased to be dancing as more people joined her on the floor and now was more of a swarm. It was late, but the night was just getting started. People were massing and the air of the crowd was electric. The mood was set by everyone on whatever they were on, brought together by the common thread of the music. The fights and the arguments and the love were all synchronized by the throb of the music and the graveled edge.

Despite the heat of the summer night in LA and the copious amount people, Buffy felt a chill. She stopped in the midst of the throng and slowly turned around.

Her eyes stopped at the edge of the floor. There stood a man staring solidly at her. Buffy shivered. The man stood wearing black pants and a long black duster. Under the duster he wore a white tank top. His hair was white blonde and sticking in all directions. The man stood with his feet apart and his thumbs in his pockets.

He was a striking figure, but it was the look on his face that made Buffy shiver.

His eyes were wide blue and open. They looked at her without shame for staring, they looked at her as if she was naked.

She shivered again when she realized that being naked in front of this man wasn't that bad of an idea.

He didn't move and Buffy was transfixed. Then very slowly bit his bottom lip. Buffy felt herself moving towards him.

"I wouldn't do it if I were you," a voice behind her said.

Buffy looked up behind her and there was a man wearing black sunglasses, black leather pants, heavy black shoes, and nothing else. With the way that his pants were hanging on his hips Buffy was very sure that he was wearing nothing else.

She looked up at him, the dark kohl around her eyes making the green turn very catlike.

"Do what?" Buffy asked puffing herself up to remotely take up the presence that this man did.

His smile was huge and Buffy was willing to bet there was some chemicals making the smile perk up like that. She couldn't see the eyes behind those dark glasses, so she wasn't sure.

"Make eye contact. He'll eat you alive, little girl," the man told her leaning in, "He's a Big Bad."

Buffy tilted her head and cocked her head. Buffy felt an arm interlock with hers.

"Devon, get your head out of your ass," Cordelia said.

Buffy turned and looked at her sister and Cordelia leaned in.

"Don't listen to Devon, he's just trying to scare you, but he's right. That guy is staring holes into you and that guy is not someone you want to get involved with."

Buffy looked back. He tilted his head and smirked. He gave her a nod and turned around his coat following him.

"That is the lead singer for Big Bad," Cordelia said. Then she motioned to Devon who was talking animatedly with one of the members of the opening bands, "That is the drummer."

"Who?" Buffy asked.

Cordelia rolled her eyes, "Do you ever listen to anything when music is playing? Xander said there was a new band in town, really you love this music and you can't even keep on top of the new bands."

"So how do you know them?" Buffy asked.

Cordelia rolled her eyes in that how dare you ask I know everyone and everything worth knowing, "They have been tearing up the scene. Their music rocks and they are the loudest partiers that you have ever seen," Cordelia looked over her shoulder, "I met Devon last night when you were going to your premiere."

Devon heard his name and came over. The music was loud and most people couldn't hear themselves think, but Devon could hear his name.

Devon leaned in, "So what did you do to him."

Buffy turned her head and looked at where the man was at the bar. He was leaning against the bar, looking at some girl. The blue eyes were carefully guarded with an emotion that looked like honesty. He was oozing charm. The openness and the stare was gone when he looked at that woman and replaced by the dishonesty of bar honesty. He seemed to feel the weight of her stare he looked at her and raised one scarred eyebrow. Buffy nodded towards the girl. He rolled his eye and turned that vapidly flirtatious stare back to the other girl.

Buffy watched and shook her head.

Cordelia snickered, "We need another drink."

Buffy followed her to the back bar. They knew the bartender and the sisters drank down shots, and Buffy gagged. Buffy could drink like a champ, but Buffy always looked like she was taking a shot for the first time. Alcohol didn't really agree with her, but she wasn't going to stop trying.

The shots turned into liquid courage as Xander joined them at the bar.

"So how are my two favorite women?"

Buffy smiled, "We're dandy."

Xander looked at Cordelia and shook his head, "You've gotten her smashed again."

Cordelia smiled and snuggled into Xander, "Xander-bear, we're just getting rid of the ick factor."

Xander looked down at them through his dilated pupils and smiled, "Is this about the guy who is staring holes into you?"

Buffy smacked her lips, "It is downright creepy."

Cordelia tugged on Xander arm, "It looks like the Buffy needs another drink, she still looks as if it is creepy."

They shared a conspiratorial look. Xander waved the bartender over and the two of them huddled together for a moment.

Cordelia looked over at Xander with a soft smile on her face. Under the black eyeliner and the red lips the smile looked out of place, Xander looked over and Cordelia's head swiveled. Xander blinked as if he had imagined it.

Cordelia looked over at Buffy, "So what do you think of this band?"

Buffy stole a cherry from the bar, she popped it into her mouth, "They're good, but…"

Buffy trailed off and looked at Cordelia who was looking a little to innocent.

"You always tell me what to think of the bands. What are you doing," Buffy looked around at Xander, "What is Xander ordering?" Buffy demanded.

Cordelia shrugged.

Buffy rolled her eyes and Xander came up, "Let me guess, we're having Bartender Surprises."

Xander handed Cordelia one glass and wrapped one hand around Buffy's neck. Buffy took the glass and looked at the red liquid.

Xander squinted and looked across the room, "I don't like the look of him, he's all I'm wearing a leather jacket in the middle of a hot club, aren't I just so cool."

Buffy snickered and drank down the glass in one swallow.

She handed the glass to Xander amid her gagging noises, "Always the protector aren't we? I will calm your fears, I'm not here for the boys, I'm here for the music."

"I'm sorry about that," Cordelia said sipping her drink examining the bare-chested figure of Devon, "I think I've found something more interesting than the music."

She looked back at the other two, "Wish me luck."

"Does she ever need luck," Xander muttered into his glass.

Buffy giggled, everything was becoming softer, "You've still got that crush."

"On Cordy? I'd rather eat nails," Xander growled, "Oh look there is Faith."

Buffy shook her head, she didn't know how he did it. Xander was a goof and weird. One week people would threaten his life and the next week they would have his back. He would hit on girls that would never give him the time of day, and then he would get seduced by some of the most attractive women in the world. He was a mass of contradictions.

Buffy felt the vibes flow through her and she felt alive. She also felt his eyes on her. She could feel his eyes following her. It made her heart beat faster.

She turned around.

Those wide-open blue eyes met her green ones. He smiled slowly and cocked his head.

"Hello cutie," he said with the softness of his British accent.


	3. Past: In the bar Present: In her car

Now.

Buffy sat on the side of the road. She had received the go-ahead from Giles, but she still couldn't get her brain to start her body.

It was the rush of the past coming into the life that she had carefully constructed without any baggage. The strands of music she had held at bay we slowly saturating her clean silent world. She could almost hear the notes.

Her phone rang and for a moment she thought that she was imagining it.

Buffy picked up the phone warily.

"Hello."

"I'm in the mood for fried dough."

Buffy smiled in spite of herself.

"Hello Xander."

He never said hello anymore. He had told her it was too confusing to address her by names, he had lost track of which one to call her, so he would begin where ever he thought best.

"So what do you think, we play hooky from work and go to the pier. Talk it up."

Buffy closed her eyes and leaned against her headrest.

"You heard," Buffy said flatly.

Xander let out a sigh that seemed to take with it his cheery mood.

"Yeah, just now, I was hoping that you hadn't heard."

Buffy could see him. He was leaning against his window frame; his hair was sticking in fifty directions, from running his hands through it so many times.

"Buffy," he said quietly, "What are you thinking."

Buffy felt the tears form underneath her eyelids. For all the wild years that he had been with her and for the few years following when she didn't feel as if she could do it alone she owed him. She owed him the truth.

"I'm going to LA."

Buffy could feel the weight of his silence. He knew better than to say anything negative. She would go off when he would make the comments. They had fought so much over this subject that there had been big chunks of time when they hadn't spoke.

"I wish you wouldn't," Xander finally said.

Buffy shook her head, "You don't get that choice."

"How many times has he failed you, how many times has he broken your heart."

Buffy bristled at the indignation in his voice, "Look, I don't care, it is my life and it is my heart."

"Not when you come crawling home to me, not now that you have a life that doesn't include bleached blonde."

Buffy thought of the home that waited for her, the man that whispered sweet words, the job that she adored. She thought of the fact that her father finally looked at her with a smile, with almost an inkling of pride.

Then she thought of Spike, all alone in the hospital bed.

"I have to."

"What is this inner compulsion that always is about him. why do you sacrifice yourself over and over. He's no good to you. He's heartless and you're the only one not to see it."

"You're wrong."

"And you act first and think later when it comes to him, you always have."

&

Seven years ago 

Buffy looked at the man before her. Her knees suddenly didn't seem to be able to support her, she leaned against the wall for support.

"I was wondering if you had the balls to come speak to me," Buffy said. Her internal Elizabeth was shocked, she usually didn't have it in her to be so brazen.

He placed one hand flat against the wall next to her head and leaned in.

"Oh because you're oh so scary?"

His blue eyes raked over her knee high boots and leather skirt. They seemed to trace up the seams of her red shirt and linger on her chest. Then they rested on the darkly shadowed eyes. Her green eyes looked up at him in defiance, defiance of his charm, even as her inner self was completely pulled to him.

"Sorry luv, I invented the red and black look, you're hardly but another bird."

Buffy pushed herself up on her toes so that they were eye level, "Then why were you staring all stalker like?"

Buffy watched as a few answers flickered through his eyes. Then he shrugged and gave her a devil may care grin.

"Because I've never seen anyone move the way you do."

His voice was like velvet and caused her entire body to begin to hum. She could feel his presence even in her toes.

She looked up at him with a smile that was sweet. Her lips curled up and her eyes were rewarding him for honesty.

"You don't get hit on much do you pet," he purred in her ear.

"I get hit on a lot," she replied indignantly.

"Nah," he said as one fingertip traced over her hip, "People who get hit on often don't smile like that after a line by a guy who stares at them. They think they're weird."

"So I should slap you and walk away," she said grinning.

"Its an option," he told her, "I'm a bad bad man."

She shrugged, "Don't wanna."

Spike was struck by the fact that he shouldn't be in front of her. There was something completely sweet about her that he had steadfastly avoided in women lately.

"Then what do you want?"

Buffy studied him, "I want to know where you got the scar on your eyebrow."

"You could do anything you want to me, and you're asking about a scar."

"Like I'd want to do anything with you?"

"It would be a lot more fun."

Buffy snickered, "You're pretty cocky."

"Always," he said in a low voice.

Buffy gave him a patronizing look, "So if you're always cocky then you got the scar in a horrible sex accident. That kind of resume doesn't lead me to want to DO anything to you."

Spike laughed, "I got it when I was three. There was a horrible slide incident."

Buffy attempted not to giggle.

"Hey," he said with fake hurt. For the first time in years he was finding a woman good for something besides fucking.

Buffy made a mocking face, "You're a big bad guy and you got hurt in a slide incident."

"I was three," he informed her.

She smiled at him.

He laughed and picked up his hand to motion to the bartender and Buffy tried not to shudder. He looked down at her as if he had been shocked. He touched her experimentally. When his hand touched her a warm current went through her body. He pulled it away and the cold that didn't exist in this room wrapped around her.

Buffy didn't notice that breathing had become hard.

He slipped his hand back to her hip and slid the hand behind her. He cupped her and pulled her to him.

"I want to kiss you," he whispered.

"No," she managed to say.

He pulled away.

She grabbed his hand, "Follow me."

&

"This is wrong," Cordelia said and Xander nearly jumped out of his skin. He was standing watching the band and Cordelia had come up to him with out him noticing. Which was strange because he usually noticed her wherever he was.

"Bajeezus, wear a bell," Xander said.

"Stop being a brat, we have problems."

Xander examined her, "Yes, the lighting is making you look all green and your hair, well let's not comment on it."

"Like you'd know proper skin care or hair styles on a woman. You haven't hooked up with anyone in the daylight or sober in years."

Xander squinted, "You're right, you are looking rather attractive."

Cordelia hit him, "You're an ass, but that isn't new, what is new is that I lost Buffy. She was talking to that guy and now she's gone."

Xander held his hands up, "You were the one who thought giving her drinks until it wasn't creepy was a good idea."

"Yeah, but you gave her the bartender specials."

"It was your idea."

"Yeah, but I wasn't thinking that Buffy would start flirting. She's been uptight all day. I thought that maybe she would loosen up, smile and enjoy the music. It would be like the old days. She's been so uptight lately and she hasn't hung out with us in years. How was I supposed to know. She never liked guys talking to her, she is here for the music. Not guys with bleached hair and leather."

"Yeah that guy is a bit dated."

"Focus Xander, where is Buffy?"

Xander scanned the club. He didn't see the flying blonde of her hair.

"Cordy, you are worrying over nothing. This is Buffy."

Xander looked down into her worried eyes. He brushed her cheek.

"Cordelia, you two are not groupies, you are Chases, you don't have sex in the bathroom of a club. I know that she has been kind of restless with Angel, but they've been together since they were kids. I hardly think."

Cordelia put a finger on his lips, "He asked her to marry him. Yesterday he asked her. It all over the papers. She didn't give him an answer, but she wore the ring at his request. Everyone is talking about it and she isn't sure. So she is so mad at him I think…"

Xander's eyes widened.

"Fuck," he said, "Little Buffy is getting in trouble."

&

She walked him through the club and out the back door to a small shack behind the club. She opened the doors that lead to a storage shed. There was a bit of light shining through a vent. He could see the outline of her face, the way the light highlighted the dark eyeliner and her impish smile.

She didn't say anything but she ran her finger down his jaw line.

He inhaled sharply and she smiled and touched his lips with her own.

It was a soft touch, a taste, as chaste as a wedding kiss. He pulled back and she could see that his eyes were already shining with need. Buffy's heart began to speed up. There was something heady about the way that he looked at her.

He kissed her again and this time he took over. He invaded her senses and her body felt the connection of where his lips interacted with hers, where his tongue explored the sensitive flesh of her mouth, and the place on her hip where his hand was holding onto her shirt like a life raft.

They were hardly touching, but they were completely aroused.

He pulled back and breathlessly asked, "What's your name."

She tried to make her voice sound less out of control, "Buffy. You?"

"Spike," he said.

The only contact that they had was her shirt tangled up in his fist and it was enough to make electricity.

She nodded, "We good now."

He nodded.

He thanked the heavens above for skirts and she thanked god for the Canadian Whiskeys for the platform that it supplied.

His forehead was against hers as she unzipped his pants. Both of them were lost in the sensations. They were lost to the impact that the others body was having on them. They were lost to anything except feeling.

Spike pulled away and Buffy whimpered. He tangled his hand in her hair.

"Look at me," he begged.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. The green eyes met blue. She had been taught that when you're kissing that you should close your eyes, but she had always wanted to peek. She had never opened her eyes during sex. It just wasn't done. But he asked for it. He held her eyes and she could see everything that she was doing to him in those cerulean orbs. Every move that she made was echoed in those eyes. She was entranced and she knew that he could see the same things, he could feel the same things in her.

They didn't speak they just watched and felt.

He held her face and she wrapped her legs around him.

It was perfection, Buffy could feel the music of the club against her back and he was overwhelming her senses.

She didn't want to close her eyes, but she couldn't focus. She couldn't do anything feel the pounding inside of her.

"Fuck," was said, but it could have some from either of their lips. It was simultaneous and in sync.

It was perfect.

They remained still. His hands were in her hair and on her hip. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his neck and her legs were linked against his back.

He looked at her in the light that was coming in the dark room. Her green eyes were so lost. She had felt something amazing. She felt a connection.

IT was loud and powerful and the music wrapped around them as they abandoned themselves to the power of the music.

He moved slightly and eased the tension in her arms, the tension from the power that she had been holding him to her.

Buffy's bottom lip began to tremble and she remembered every reason that she shouldn't be here. He saw the scared look in her eye and its manifestation in her lip and he found her irresistible. He had to kiss her and she forgot anything else.

They pulled apart, but it had been already started again.

This time she couldn't feel anything for a few moments. She held onto him she clung to him for fear of falling off of the planet. She came to moments later curled up in his chest. She was shaking and he was holding her.

"God," He muttered underneath his breath.

He ran his thumb over his cheek and held her to him.

"You're not a priest are you," she said in labored breaths.

He laughed and she felt the rumble in his chest. It tickled her and made her soar.

"Nah luv, I was talking to you."

Buffy pulled back and gave him a heartbreaking kiss. It was then that she remembered again. She remembered life.

She pushed him away and jumped off the box. She pulled down her skirt and thought for a moment.

"What's wrong."

She had to get out of this situation. She was feeling it all too much.

"Wait," he said grabbing onto her arm. He looked down at her with a snarl, "You have to run off, some bloke waiting for you?"

She shook him off. She saw him, she only saw him.

"Of course not," she said pulling herself to him. she was in his arms again and it didn't matter. Nothing else mattered.

He held her and laughed, "I forgot. I forgot that not everyone was a liar."

He held her and she leaned into the leather jacket. It smelled of smoke and whiskey. She knew that she didn't have much time left. She knew that she didn't have many more moments that were just her own.

"I want to see you again," he whispered. He slipped a card in the waist of her skirt.

She wasn't a liar, so she said nothing she smiled and kissed him.

She turned and walked into the club. He stood there, his coat billowing, watching her leave.

&

Spike woke up. It had been four days. Four days that she hadn't called. Four days that he thought about her sweetness and her light. He thought that maybe there was hope at something better.

But as he paced through his apartment like he was waiting for something.

"Great," Devon muttered, "Spike you are an idiot."

Having Devon call him an idiot was not what he was waiting for. But having the lanky drummer comment on intelligence was something that he had waited years for. This would do for a distraction for now.

Spike jumped over the sofa and sat down next to Devon who was rewinding and playing a videotape. The room was dark and both men were still wearing the minimal amount of clothing. It was almost one, but neither one had been up for more than an hour.

Spike leaned forward and examined the pizza box on the coffee table. He had been a bit out of sorts for the past couple of days.

"Just cause I put pm instead of am doesn't mean I'm an idiot. You can't even work the bloody toaster most of the time."

"But he is an idiot," Oz pointed out as he came into the room munching on a bowl of cereal .

"Next to you I'm a bloody genius," Spike informed Devon as he inspected the pizza inside of the box.

Devon rolled his eyes, "It doesn't matter, and instead of five episodes of Passions we have five episodes of some celebrity show."

Devon stopped the tape randomly as some child actor played a guitar and extolled how the music business was not theirs to control

Spike snorted and decided a night on the table hadn't made the food inedible. He began munching on a slice of cold pizza.

"This is what is wrong with the music biz today, anyone who straps on a bleeding guitar thinks they're a musician," Spike said with his mouth amply full.

Devon rolled his eyes and began to fast forward again. He had hearted Spike's elitist view of music enough times to give it himself. He girded up and prepared for another rendition.

What he wasn't prepared for was Spike to suddenly dead voice to command, "Play the tape."

On a good day most people would consider saying that Devon had the intellect of a sixth grader a kindness. However Devon was good at one thing. He had the reflexes of a cat. That is what made him an excellent drummer, he could hear the changes in his band mates and he could react quickly. Initially Spike had little love for the airhead pretty boy, but because of Devon's quick reaction time on stage, Spike would endure all of the ditzy comments.

"Liam Angelus is off the market girls. Last night at the premier of his latest action thriller 'Scourge of Europe' his long time girl friend Elizabeth Chase was sporting a very large diamond. We asked Angel what this meant, his response was 'She said yes."

Spike wasn't watching the shots of the big actor instead he was watching the background. In the corner of the screen was a petite woman with blonde hair.

Her hair wasn't flowing around her face, and her eyes weren't lidded with black. Her lips were not some unnatural shade of red and she wasn't wearing a shred of leather.

For all the things that he though had attracted his attention he didn't see as she stood by this other man's side. She didn't look dangerous and sexy. She looked clean and classy.

And his mind still thought she was gorgeous.

"Again," Spike demanded.

Devon rewound the tape. When the bit was playing again and Spike was drawn to the glowing screen. Devon looked at Oz in confusion.

"Buffy," Oz said softly.

That did nothing to lessen the confusion on Devon's face.

"Again," Spike said, oblivious to anything else, "And mute the siding volume."

Devon compiled and turned back to Oz.

"Fifty bucks," Oz tried.

A dim light found its way to Devon's eyes.

"I was wondering how I got that. I won the bet?"

Oz shook his head lightly, "Someone needs to lay off the chemicals."

Devon wasn't listening, he turned back to the television and didn't need Spike to tell him to rewind. This time Devon watched her.

"She looks like a Buffy," he said tilted his head.

The three men watched the bit a few more times. Spike's attitude spoiled.

"She played me. She fucked me over. She played sweet and innocent. She played that she was perfect and she had some other guy. I thought there was hope for women everywhere and she is just the same. She's just another little groupie."

Spike got up an paced.

"I am such a fool. She knew exactly which buttons to press."

Oz grew increasing worried over the obsessive look in Spike's eye. Course worried looked a lot like pensive on Oz.

"She made me feel," Spike said with barely contained anger.

And that was what worried Oz the most. Spike hadn't felt or believed in a woman for years. Even in the end obsession over Dru. It got worse and interpersonal relationships had taken a back seat to obsession.

Obsession was something that had Spike worn as much as the duster. This particular emotion on Spike typically leads to binges. Binges typically lead to the hospital. Dru was queen of pain. She would drive Spike nuts, and he would go off the deep end again. It wasn't good for the band to loose your lead singer on a regular basis.

And it definitely was never good to have Spike fall apart.

Devon however could tell the change and it always meant something bad.

"I'll hide the liquor cabinet," Devon intoned. He knew exactly was Oz was thinking. That was the advantage of being together for five years. They had been kids when they had met in New York. Spike had run away from his overbearing father in London. Devon had escaped from Minnesota and tried to pretend he never lived in the Midwest. Oz had wondered in from everywhere else. They were unlikely, but bonded through the ignorance of their surrounding and the common elements of being really really underage and completely broke. They had been forced together and they were used to it by now.

But they were hardly static creatures and they could still surprise one another.

Spike shot up, but not in the direction of the door or the liquor cabinet. He went to the island in the kitchen and began rummaging through the junk drawer.

Oz and Devon watched as Spike found a pen.

Devon looked up, alarmed, at Oz.

"He's not."

Oz raised an eyebrow, completely startled, "He is."

They watched in silence while Spike scribbled away.

Devon looked at Oz, "Can we feed him drinks until he passes out."

Oz shook his head, "We must deal with this."

"The Bloody awful poetry of William Summers."

Both men failed in their suppression of shudders.

Spike didn't notice. He was to caught up in showing her. William never could extol the virtues of beauty, but Spike knew vile. He defiantly knew how drive the proverbial spike through anyone's head.


	4. Present: In her house Past: Anger

Now

Buffy found it.

In the back of her closet she found the cigar box and pulled it out. Her hands began to shake. The box held Buffy Summers. The box held the tapes that she could say was completely hers, in more ways than one. She owned them and she had inspired them. For better or worse she was part of rock and roll history. He had been angry and intrigued and had written all about her and who he though she was. It was flattering and insulting.

In the box were pictures and ticket stubs and other mementoes that were too heavy to bear. There also was the most valuable piece of jewelry she could ever own. There had been three rings giver to her by men that cost far more in the dollar sense, but this ring was something that she would never leave behind.

One ring had gone back with its large rock and all, when it still only signified 'engagement.' That was a time when she couldn't imagine living a life without music.

She had actually gotten to the marriage phase with the second one, untraditional and completely unique. She had mailed that one with the divorce papers after her heart had been trampled.

The third was an escape. It was still the one that weighed down her finger as she held the box of her past.

But these three were nothing to her heart. The ring in the box was more important. It was a silver band with the word 'always' etched on the inside of it.

He had always been impatient, a child of instant gratification. He had wanted marriage and he had wanted it now. So they had run to the pawnshop. She had bought him a plain silver band. He had seen the silver ring. It didn't matter that it fit her middle finger, not her ring, it didn't matter to him that it had belonged to someone else.

He had loved it, and it was her wedding ring. This was the image that popped into her mind whenever the word marriage was spoken. The other one that he had given to her she sent with the divorce papers. she had to give back because it was expensive and meant married. This one was hers because it was simple and she'd always know what it meant, and it was hers and only hers.

Then the big ole force of revelation hit her.

Buffy's hands began to shake. She suddenly knew. Until that moment she had considered this a trip, vacation, a salvage mission.

But her unconscious desire to bring the box meant something that she was almost unprepared to think.

Who ever she was she would not leave this box behind. She hadn't intended to leave, but suddenly she was sure that she couldn't stay.

It didn't matter, with or without him she wasn't going to lie anymore. She wasn't going to stay in this world of light and silence.

Buffy looked down at her finger. Surprisingly it wasn't that hard to take off her third wedding band. It didn't stick or anything. The gold band slid right off.

She placed the ring on his nightstand and went about packing.

&

Then.

Spike saw her when she walked in. he was in the front of the club by the stage. Tomorrow the new album would be released, soon after that was the tour.

Tonight was about letting off steam in their home.

It had been months since he'd seen her, but he thought about her everyday. Some of the thoughts had been sexual and others had been homicidal. The few that filtered few that were neither and closer to romantic were the moments when he would start to drink until he forgot her face.

Spike looked almost automatically to her hand. It was bare.

His lips slid up into a truly evil smile.

&

"We forgot to tell you something," Cordelia said quietly as Buffy took her second shot and made the appropriate faces.

"What?" Buffy asked looking unconcerned through the crowd.

Xander held up his hands, "Now let's be fair Cordelia threatened me within an inch of my life."

Cordelia pouted up at him, "Well I just wanted to see them. Devon is hot."

Xander made a gagging noise.

Buffy took another shot so that they wouldn't notice the I-have-been-trying-to-ignore-the-fact-that-I-had-sex-in-the-storeroom-the-day-after-I-got-engaged and they would just think it was the ewww, tequila face.

"So…" Buffy said.

"No," Cordelia interrupted checking out Xander's profile and then turning back to Buffy, "You aren't sick and you have nothing else to do. Angel is out of town until tomorrow. I miss going out with my sister because you are on the set with your big hunk of a fiancée. This is the new band."

Buffy tried to play innocent.

Cordelia fixed her with a glare, "Besides you're avoiding and we're Chases, we do not avoid."

Buffy rolled her eyes despite being found out. Buffy rolled her eyes at the rhetoric she had heard her entire life. She took another shot.

Cordelia waited for her to gag again.

But Buffy didn't gag.

Cordelia watched her sister, whose eyes took on that far off quality. She followed the gaze.

Standing on the stage was Spike.

Cordelia's perfectly shaped eyebrow rose.

He was without the trademark duster. He wore black leather pants and the white tank top that showed off those shoulders. Despite the harsh glare of the stage light he seemed to be looking straight at Buffy.

He stood above the crowd, as an impressive figure of pale skin and sharp shadows. His lip was curled with that defiant sneer and his hand rested on his all but forgotten guitar.

He didn't seem to breathe as he stared at her, into her. The openness and curiosity of their first emitting was gone.

In its place was something angry.

Buffy shuddered, but it wasn't the liquor.

Big Bad warmed up, they played their old songs, they played some classics. Buffy didn't so much listen, she felt. She felt his voice through her body. She felt the chords under his fingers. Those fingers fascinated her. They had played her to a tune she never knew existed, until she had pulled him into the storage closet.

Then for a second the music stopped. Spike stepped forward and the lights went down, save on him. Buffy couldn't figure out if he was part of the shadows or light.

He stared out at her again.

His eyes glinted blue gray. At that moment Buffy knew she was going to pay. He wasn't going to play nice because she'd been a bitch.

"This one is for a girl," he said his voice taking on the dangerous predatory tone. Buffy felt goosebumps.

In contrast to their previous loudness, the single notes were deafening. There was a hum of bass and a ring of the chords under Spike's fingers.

He began to sing and the words were venom.

_I may be Love's Bitch._

_I'm man enough to admit it_

_And I found a new religion_

_Between your knees_

_And I've been fucked_

_But never fucked over_

_Until you_

The sudden crescendo of music as the intro led into the song was a brick wall that added to the slap she had just received. The music was hard and she couldn't breathe.

She had to get away.

She made it through the crowd to the door. She managed to push her way outside.

And she had just exited the door when Spike came out the door.

"Can't take the truth, pet," he yelled.

She turned on him. She felt tears accumulate.

"That wasn't nice," she said. It was all she could think of, too much of her brain was trying not to cry.

"So I'm not a nice guy."

But he was, her brain was screaming. He had cupped her face and he had watched as he drove into her. He had been in her body and her head.

She couldn't risk space in her heart. She was so sure that it belonged to Angel.

She barely knew him, but he had laid her bare on stage.

He stepped toward her and he didn't falter, "I'm not nice."

His voice was smooth and velvet.

With no hesitation he leaned in and kissed her. It was not a nice kiss. Nice kisses are soft and exploring. The kiss threatened to overtake her. This kiss asked her for everything. His arms had found themselves to around her, she didn't know exactly when. He pulled her to him. He molded her to his body and kissed her with no reservation.

Spike pulled back as suddenly as he had taken her. He threw her away from him so quickly there was a vacuum effect. He was sure that she would notice the effect she had on him. His seduction had gone very wrong.

She didn't notice and he regained his composure.

Buffy ran a hand over her swollen lips. Buffy willed her legs to stop shaking and her mind to clear.

Of course neither happened. All her fogged mind could register were the words that Cordelia had said before she had seen him. She was a Chase. She had been born into the Country Club crowd. She never used her powers for evil, but she couldn't think straight enough.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she demanded with an arrogance that she didn't know she possessed.

Claiming you, her internal voice told her, Kissing you with an intensity that will make you remember him for the next month whenever you kiss Angel.

She gave him a second to say those words, to say something that would be honest instead of angry. He leered down at her, she returned his look at him with the snobbery and scorn that she had seen in the children at her posh private school.

"Just because I let you fuck me you think you can kiss me whenever you want?" she said pointedly.

His taunting blue eyes clouded over.

"So now you're all high and mighty. I thought you had backbone, but it turns out you just have a stick up your ass. You're no better than the rest of 'em."

Cordelia was the Queen Bitch and Buffy had learned from the best. She gave him the stare that had leveled cities.

"You're beneath me," she said through clenched teeth. She turned away just as the teas began to fall. She walked away without looking back.

If Buffy were to look back she would have seen Spike punch the brick building. Spike's hand began to swell and bleed. He didn't notice though. He watched her leave. Control came over his body, belied by the incessant throb of the vein in his jaw.

He strode into the club.

Oz and Devon had decided to take time for drinks at the bar since their lead singer had jumped off the stage.

Oz elbowed Devon and Devon looked at Spike. Spike walked over to the bar and grabbed an unopened bottle of Johnny Walker black from under the counter. He opened the bottle with his hand that was slowly becoming more and more deformed and a liquid shade of red.

Oz nodded, "We should take him to a hospital."

Devon was shaking his head and wither didn't hear or was too messed up to note.

You know what I don't get?" Devon asked.

Anyone else besides Oz would have made some snide comment or at least let out a snicker. Oz remained impassive, but he was dying of laughter on the inside.

Devon was watching Spike, the latter was getting reamed out by Ripper.

"How does Spike have any molars left," Devon wondered oblivious to the fact that their manager and their lead singer were seconds away from fighting.

Spike was efficiently grinding his teeth to dust, as he always did when it came to this point. Oz shrugged and sighed. Sleep was going to be a few days away. He got up and made his way to the pair.

Oz looked at Spike's hand, "So the gig is over?"

Spike looked incredulously at his bleeding hand.

"Fuck it," he told them, he turned to the man standing next to the bar tender, "What is your name."

"Lindsey," the bartended replied giving him a measured look.

"Lindsey, can you play the guitar."

Lindsey nodded.

Spike grinned and Oz grinned back at him.

The band got on stage. Oz smiled the smile that was reserved for nights with full moons, Devon looked completely spaced, and Lindsey took Spike's guitar and filled out the group perfectly. Spike stood on the front of the stage. In his swelling, bleeding hand was the bottle of Johnny Walker.

"We're back," Spike said looking out predatorily.

The club exploded in cheers. And the music filled the club, it was evil and angry and it wasn't going to end anytime soon.

He was determined to forget her.

Then. Four days later.

Buffy lay on her couch looking at the box on the table. She took another sip of wine. She was finding that wine went down far better than tequila and that it had a strangely euphoric effect.

Not that she was drinking because she had to face the white box, but it sure made things easier.

She was itching to listen to her music, but this was Angel's house. Angel liked dark rooms, fireplaces and melancholy opera in Italian and dense thick books in French. When Buffy was young she thought the brooding was sexy and the foreign languages was classy, but the novelty wasn't what it once was.

Cause the silence was driving her crazy. Angel wasn't home, but she still wasn't allowed to listen to her music. It was almost as if he could feel the anarchy of punk that the wall absorbed.

He was an artist and he needed silence in his house. True most of his movies were starring guns and explosions as much as they starred him. He still thought that he needed concentration.

Buffy needed music, but she loved him. He was elite enough to please her father and still regular enough not to bore her. He was the perfect compromise.

She was willing to give up music to have no drama at family dinners and no conflict in daily life. she was ready to embrace a mundane life.

But she didn't touch the box. Because in the box was the little white pieces of heavy watermarked paper that called all to celebrate the union of Elizabeth Chase and Liam Angelus. It sounded so proper, and so final.

Buffy itched for the Clash, Sex Pistols, or the Ramones, something to tell her she was alive. She rarely got mad and all her internalization was typically channeled through her music.

Which she was going to give it up.

Buffy looked again at the evil box. Unbidden the lyrics popped into her head. As much as she had tried to forget them, she was drawn to them.

The lines 'I've found a new religion/between your knees' would go through her head and random intervals. The lines weren't angry when she heard them in her head. The suave voice and lilting vowels of his accent would hit her while she was shopping at the wedding planner. It would be sultry and she would remember when he was actually between her knees. The words that were cheap and degrading in the club sounded like worship in her head.

"I'm loosing it," Buffy muttered as she remembered the honesty and the connection that she had with him in the club.

She tried to tell herself that it as just physical. Buffy poured herself another glass of wine and pondered the situation.

"Suppose I admit I'm attracted to him," she said, breaking the stagnant volume of the room as she began to pace.

"What is that really," she said shrugging, "I find him attractive, so what? He looks good in the dark, he's sexy when the music plays."

A plan that was based on wishful thinking and denial began to form. She accounted for her tenure with Angel and their compatibility. She factored in what she wanted out of life. She knew that Angel was familiar and safe. She let herself believe that was what she wanted.

She drank her wine and paced the floor.

She was only forgetting one thing, in order for perfection she would be compromising the one thing that meant anything to her.

&

Spike came back to his body with a thud.

He should feel suddenly the incessant throbbing of his head, the creaking of his sinuses and the complete numb yet agonizing pain that seemed to encompass his hand.

He didn't want to open his eyes, or move. Either one would probably kill him

Or make him incredibly nauseous, which would be worse.

Nausea would lead to him over the toilet, if he could find it. Seeing as he figured the last time he ate was a few days ago he knew he would be dry heaving. Which would be more painful than effective.

Spike was debating whether or not to pray for death when he felt something cool on his bulbous left hand.

He looked up through bloodshot eyes and saw a flash of red. He sighed in relief.

"Where'd you find us this time Red?"

Spike heard a soft laugh.

"On my doorstep again. What did you do to yourself."

Her voice was soft. She was always the place where they found themselves at the end of a bender. She was always pretty nice to them, as long as they didn't bring girls, booze or drugs into her house. She would rail at them when they would start their terrorizing streaks, but they were always welcome when they needed a break. Oz had her heart, but to Devon and Spike she was Mamma Willow and this was the Rosenberg Spa.

"Whatcha mean?" Spiked asked innocently.

There was an odd silence. Spike cracked his eyes. Willow as looking down at him her hands on her hips. Spike blinked. Willow pointed to his left hand. Spike risked nausea and the embarrassment of puking on himself to examine the appendage, which felt as if it were wrapped in cotton. Spike looked down at his hand and it took him a second to realize that this was in fact his hand. The thing was absurdly large, like in a cartoon. The skin was swollen and completely smooth. It looked strangely full. Spike lifted it and attempted to bend the fingers.

"Bloody hell," he yelled as pain lanced through his arm.

Willow turned around with a needle in her hands.

"What would you do if Oz's girlfriend wasn't a med student?"

"Die," Spike said closing his eyes.

"You're pretty close right now," Willow informed him and came closer. Spike felt her near.

Spike looked at the needle warily, "For a woman who is so adamant we stay away from needles you sure do stick me with them a lot."

Willow looked down at him sternly, "Well you certainly fuck yourself up enough."

"Yes mom," Spike said obediently, "I'll never do it again I swear just make me feel better, what do I get this time?"

Willow looked at the needle, "We have a nice cocktail of Vitamin B and Vitamin C."

"Ah the good ole sand byes," Spike said noticing that his mouth had the consistency of sand.

"Wait, wait," Willow said mockingly, "This time we have a mountain of penicillin so you don't loose your hand."

Spike closed his eyes, "Sounds like a plan, shoot me up mamma."

Willow rolled her eyes and jammed him with the needle.

"Gads woman," Spike yelled, "You have the beside manner of a Swedish kitchen wench."

"I try."

Spike closed his eyes, "Can I have some water?"

Willow snickered and left the room. Spike through he was safe until he felt someone jump on the bed and land next to him

Spike cracked open another eye and in his face a maniacally smiling Ripper sat smoking a cigarette.

Behind him stood a man in the doorway. The man looked vaguely familiar, but Spike could place him.

"Who's that?" Spike asked, motioning without moving.

Ripper grinned at him, "That's our new guitar player."

"What!" Spike shot up, his agonizing physical condition was momentarily forgotten, "You're kicking me out of the band. I started this band, does Oz know about it. He won't stand for it. You can have Devon, but Oz comes with me."

Ripper inhaled and motioned with the cigarette. The white cylinder was close to his face and Spike felt the nausea rise.

"Well someone should have through about that before he punched out a wall and then let his hand fester for three days, when we have to do live appearances when the album comes out and we have a tour in a month."

"This is ridiculous. Was there a vote? You cannot kick me out of the band."

Then Spike saw the mocking laughter in Ripper's eyes.

"I'm not being replaced?" Spike said with certainty as he remembered that his body was in agony.

Ripper shrugged, "Nah, he's just going to play with us until you gain movement in your hand."

"Welcome then mate," Spike said nonchalantly, "Ya got a name?"

"Lindsey," the man said looking at the swollen hand.

Spike closed his eyes again, "Nice to met you man, I'd shake your hand."

"That's fine," the man said.

Oz and Willow came in and popped on the other side of Spike. Oz was a little green, but seemed to be in recovery, he held Willow. She was always good at being his hangover cure.

Ripper had kept up, if not surpassed them, but he never showed any wear. He was a legend in the music world.

Lindsay stood in the doorway looking a little worse for wear.

"Where's Devon," Spike asked.

Oz shrugged, "We lost him."

"He went off with Faith," Willow said with completely undisguised hatred.

"Figures,"

"How's the hand," Ripper asked examining the surreally large appendage.

Spike shrugs, "It feels like I wrapped it in about five yards of bandage."

"It could be worse," Oz pointed out.

"How."

"You did remember to pour vodka over the cuts. Something about keeping it clean. One shot of liquor for the gut, one over the hand."

Spike laughed and he began to feel better, surrounded by this family of sorts.

Then his cell phone rang.

Spike fumbled around for it. Ripper was telling a story that had Willow giggling and even Lindsey was smiling.

"'Lo."

"Spike, It's Buffy."

And the noise around him stopped. He looked at the phone as if some kind of insanity had accompanied his hangover.

"Buffy," he said as if it was the first time he had heard that name.

He could feel her hesitate.

"I know you remember me," she said plainly.

"Yeah luv, I remember you," Spike replied slowly.

"I'm calling because I wanted to ask you to meet me for breakfast tomorrow," she announced.

Spike pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it. He looked up at Willow. He covered the speaker.

Willow cocked her head in askance. Spike opened his mouth, but he couldn't frame a though, never mind a sentence. He knew he should ask why, but shock was a little too much. The last memory he had of the past couple of days was of her walking away. He thought that he would never see her again, she would go live with her movie star.

"She's on my phone," Spike gasped.

Willow looked at him astonished.

"Spike," she sounded a little lost, "This isn't a date or anything, just two people having breakfast, talking, we had a thing, well it wasn't a thing, but I just want to meet and talk. Two people talking and eating. Nothing serious, sunlight, there will be sunlight and we will talk, normal people talk."

Spike covered the phone, "She wants breakfast."

"Does she want you to rollover and make it?" Ripper intoned.

Oz shot him a look, but Spike could only hear Buffy.

"Breakfast, we can…"

"Talk," Spike finished, "Two people having a normal breakfast."

"Yes. Does that sound like something that you want to do?"

Spike was having a hard time answering that. He hadn't been thinking about breakfast the first time he saw her. He had never even thought of breakfast with her.

But the thought of her and breakfast made him mouth water.

Did he want to do it?

He wanted to drag her away from the world and have her and keep her and keep her in his bed until they were too sore to move. He wanted to talk to her and make her laugh and find out why she got that worried look in her eye. He wanted to watch her move. He wanted her with an intensity that surprised him.

What he said was, "Yes."

"You'll do it?"

"Yes."

"Espresso Pump at nine."

"Yes."

"Great I'll see you there."

She hung up the phone and Spike was motionless.

He sat there with the phone against his ear.

Everyone was watching him.

Spike smiled, "I've got me a date."

"With a taken woman," Oz pointed out.

Spike's smile only grew, "She was engaged until me."

His eyes got wide as he realized that he was not in a state to stand up, never mind go out for breakfast. Willow caught his fear.

"Guys we have an emergency," Willow announced, "We have twelve hours to get Spike in a condition that would enable him to go to breakfast and think."

"First time for everything," Ripper muttered.

Spike pushed him off the bed.


	5. Past: Breakfast Carnivale

Then. The next day. Espresso Pump.

Buffy fidgeted.

She sipped her coffee and waited. It was the most agonizing wait that she had ever endured. She had been in the restaurant for four minutes and she was ready to leave. True she was half an hour early, but she was simply so anxious for this moment.

She looked at the menu. She began to wonder what he would order for breakfast. She couldn't imagine what he would order for breakfast. He didn't seem like a breakfast person. Which is why she wanted him to meet her for breakfast.

She was completely in a fluster when he walked in. It was a sunny warm day, but he walked in with his black leather jacket and his black heavy boots. He was out of place when he walked in, but he walked in with that swagger. He seemed completely at ease in this place.

He stood behind the chair in front of Buffy and he looked down at her.

He breathed in and looked at her. His blue eyes looked down at her petite form, they took in her blonde figure.

He found that she was nothing like the creature that he had met in the club and she was nothing like the image that had appeared in his television. She was white and soft. Her hair flowed around her face and her make-up was soft.

Buffy looked up at him and met his gaze. His look was rakish, but she didn't feel that it was invasive. She felt comfortable.

They didn't notice that they were completely still until the waitress came up.

"Are you the addition to her party?" The waitress asked.

Spike didn't look away from her and nodded, "Yeah, I'm hers."

Buffy attempted not to smile, but Spike caught it.

He sat down and put his elbows on the table and leaned in.

"Hello cutie," he said to her and Buffy felt it in her toes.

The waitress looked at them and sighed. She had gotten up at four this morning and was tired. These people were not going to make her day any easier.

"Can I get you coffee?" she attempted to sound cheerful.

Neither one of the occupants of the table noticed her forced tone.

Spike shook his head and didn't look away from Buffy, "I'll have tomato juice. Lottsa vitamins."

The waitress left and was relieved to leave.

"Hi," she said with a smile.

He cocked his head and looked at the way that she smiled. He loved it, he walked in and he had made that look on her face. She could say anything now and he would still be happy.

"What did you do to your hand?" Buffy asked curiously.

Spike fixed her with a glare, "It was a slide incident."

Luckily the waitress came back with Spike's tomato juice. She put it down.

"Are you ready to order?" the waitress asked.

Spike glanced at the menu, "Steak, rare."

"We don't offer steak for breakfast."

Spike looked up at her, "Well you offer steak and eggs right."

The waitress nodded.

"So give me the steak rare, and some of those potato things," Spike told her.

"How do you want the eggs cooked?"

Spike looked up at her as if she was insane.

"I don't want the eggs."

He said it slowly and the waitress sucked in a breath, trying to keep her cool. Buffy tried not to giggle. Spike could drive a saint insane and this waitress was nowhere near a saint.

"We're going to charge you for the eggs," the waitress said with the fakest smile in the world.

Spike rolled his eyes, "Charge me for anything you want. I don't want the eggs, just get me the steak and potatoes."

The waitress didn't push it any further, it wasn't worth it. She turned to Buffy.

"What do you want?"

"I'll have the fruit plate."

"You will not," Spike said grabbing her menu. He looked up at the waitress, "The lady will have Chocolate Chip pancakes with Raspberry syrup."

"What," Buffy said confused. People didn't order for her. Angel never ordered for her. It didn't matter if he did. They usually ate something completely fat and carb free. He would never think of ordering pancakes.

The waitress saw that as her moment to leave. The two people of the table didn't notice.

"You can't just order for me," Buffy said incredulously.

Spike shrugged and lean back, "Well you can't just order fruit, you're a twig you need to eat."

"Look at you, you are a twig too, you don't look like you've eaten all week."

Spike winced at the truth of that statement, "Doesn't matter, I ordered steak."

"Who do you think you are."

"The person that you invited to breakfast, you eat with me, you actually eat."

"I invited you, we play by my rules."

"Why did you invite me," he leaned back and ran his tongue over his teeth.

Buffy was fuming and she spoke before she could put the censors up.

"To prove how annoy and obnoxious and how not attracted to you I am."

Buffy put her hand over her mouth and her eyes went wide.

Spike smirked, "So is it working, luv."

Buffy glared at him.

"Yes you're doing really well that you are completely arrogant and un workable."

"Are you still attracted to me?"

"No, I never was."

The denial was loud and quick and Spike was sure that it wasn't true.

Spike shrugged, "K, so should I go?"

Buffy took a deep breath and attempted to get her temper under control. She was usually so good at keeping control of her temper; her temper was almost alien to her. She was almost as shocked as she was angry.

"No, the other reason that I asked you here was that I want you not to think that I'm a bitch, I'm not."

Spike leaned back. This was unexpected.

"Why do you care, luv? Is this the part where you tell me that you usually don't have sex in the store room, you're really sweet and innocent."

Buffy shook her head, "I'm not going to tell you anything, I just wanted you to know that I'm not as awful as you think I am."

"What does it matter what I think?"

"It doesn't," Buffy said flustered, "I don't care what you think."

Spike raised one scarred eyebrow.

The waitress returned with the food and put it down. Neither one touched their food. Buffy eyed the three gigantic pancakes. Spike looked at the steak and his mouth began to water, but he wasn't going to touch his food without her touching hers.

"K, I'll forgive you and all that rot, but I have two requirements."

"Yes."

"Firstly you must eat all of your pancakes, every bite."

Buffy knew that arguing would make her look like an anorexic twit, or a bubblehead who cared about nothing than image. It wasn't that she didn't eat; it was that nothing ever tasted good. Angel and Cordelia insisted that food should be served without oil, milk, butter, sugar, or salt. She had simply never wanted food. She forgot that food could taste good.

Tentatively she put some raspberry syrup on the super choc lately pancakes. She took a bite and expected the food to taste like paper. It tasted rich and buttery and sweet and it was an explosion in her mouth.

Buffy opened her eyes and licked her lips; suddenly the pancakes didn't seem to be big enough.

"Deal," she said taking another bite.

Spike grinned, "Second, I want you to answer three questions honestly and in full. I figure we're never going to meet again, so why not answer these questions as if there are no consequences. Tell me the truth in a way that doesn't matter, just the full story."

Buffy scrunched up her nose, "Only if I get three."

"No deal," Spike shook her head, "This is your forgiveness."

"No this is also a deal."

"You can have one question."

"Two."

"Okay."

Buffy smiled in her winnings and took another bite.

"You first," She told him and prepared herself for a completely evasive and inappropriate question.

"Do you really like the music."

Spike was rewarded with another little smile.

"Of course."

"We agreed that you would answer it in full. We've only got today, you don't have to deal with me ever again. This is our little secret. Everything said at this table doesn't go beyond this table

Buffy couldn't argue with that. She thought for a moment and then answered.

"I love the music, but not because of coolness factors. When Cordelia and I first stared thinking about going to the clubs it was that rebellion thing that all kids do. But we walked into the first club and there was this pounding music and the fact that step mother number four was being over bearing, school was completely overwhelming, and I was miserable, suddenly didn't matter. The music pounded and there was all this angry music and the loud rhythm and for a few seconds I didn't feel anything but the music. It made all the feelings fade away."

Spike dug into his steak, but looked up and interrupted, "But the music is about rebellion and shock value, that doesn't seem like it fits with the country club crowd."

"It isn't about who I am," Buffy bit her lip, "This is going to sound so trite and so, poor little rich girl, but I am fighting against something. I'm not fighting the man or society or anything important. I don't even get all-uppity with my father, but I'm fighting not to be my mother. I'm fighting not to have a life that is great and perfect and loaded with money and everything, I just want to have that feeling of, well actually feeling. I don't want to be dead inside and the music makes me feel. I want to be alive. That is what the music gives to me."

Spike sat back. He was not expecting this from her. He studied her and she seemed to be listening to music. She didn't notice him for a minute. He was completely enthralled.

She smiled softly and looked up at him, "Is that a full answer."

His heart seemed to stop when she looked at him like that.

Spike nodded and tried to see when she had changed. She had gone from completely angry to completely honest. She wasn't diluting anything.

"My turn."

"Give it a go, I'm an open book," he said leaning back.

"Who was she?"

"Going straight for the jugular," he leaned back and laced his hands behind his head, "Why do you think there is a girl?"

Buffy shrugged, "There's always a girl. Besides Cordy told me that you guys ran out of New York because you pissed off your ex's rich hubby."

Spike felt a twinge of flattery that she had learned about him.

"She was a girl, she was a force of nature. I came to New York at fifteen, ready to go to college."

"At fifteen you went to college," Buffy said skeptically.

Spike fixed her with a stare, "Don't tell anyone. It will ruin my reputation if anyone finds out that I was a genius."

Buffy couldn't tell if it was cockiness or the truth so she let it slide. She took another bite and motioned for him to continue.

"Well I was a poncy little git and I met her. I never knew what she saw in me; it might just be that I was born a town over from her. British solitary and all that rot. To make five years of my life short enough she showed me the underworld. She showed me a world that I never knew existed. She rocked me, she changed me, and she gave me this life. Then she left, she found some guy and I was devastated. That is when I met Oz and Devon. For the next couple of years she would come back and leave again. She could come to me when she had problems. I would take care of her. A few months ago we were living together and I found out that she was dating this old guy who looked as if mold was growing on him. She told me that she loved him and was going to marry him. She used me over and over."

The words cost him a lot. The honesty was hard and rare and his voice cracked a bit. Buffy put her small hand on top of his swollen one.

He looked at her and her soft green eyes calmed the pain. He ran a thumb over the soft skin of her hand. Then he picked it up and kissed the palm.

Buffy pulled it away from his as if it was on fire.

She drank a sip of her coffee, as if that would wake up from the intimacy of the conversation.

"Your turn," she said briskly.

Spike waved the waitress over, she begrudgingly came to their table, "Pet, is there anyway that we can get some pie."

"Pie," Buffy said, "I couldn't possibly…"

Buffy looked down at her plate, which was empty, empty in fact in a record time. She hesitated a moment and looked the waitress straight in the eye, "I want pumpkin and pecan."

Spike refrained from grinning, "What fruity pies do you have."

"Peach, Apple, and Blueberry," she replied.

"Okay," Spike agreed.

"Which one?"

"All of them," Spike replied as if it was something that she should know.

Buffy grinned and stole some of his potatoes, the waitress rolled her eyes.

"There goes her tip," Spike said lightly before looking back at Buffy, "So girl my second question is simply this, what is it like to be rich."

Buffy giggled in spite of herself, "You can ask me any question and get an honest answer and you ask me that?"

Spike popped the last bite of steak in his mouth, "Please, this may be the only chance that I'll get to have breakfast with a girl who grew up with everything, might as well ask."

"You get invited to breakfast often?"

"Is that a question?"

Buffy scrunched up her nose, "I don't want to know."

"So tell me what is it like to live in the lap of luxury."

Buffy took a deep breath, "I don't know."

"What do you mean that you don't know."

"I don't know. I have always had money. I've always had an allowance that rivals the poverty line. I wouldn't know anything else."

"What would you do if you say got a really bad drug habit and lost it all."

"I can't."

"You can't do drugs or loose your money?"

"Loose everything. When dad met Cordy's first guy from the clubs he had a fit. Instead of doing the parental thing and actually pay attention to us, he decided to let us do whatever we wanted and take control of our finances. We both have come into our trusts, but we have a team of financial people who guard it. They make sure that we don't spend beyond our means."

"Wow, you're dad is…"

"An uptight asshole control freak who marries a twenty five year old woman every five years."

"Ah the stepmother gauntlet," Spike said with a sense of camaraderie, "We do that in the middle class too, I've had three."

"Try five, they're horrible and evil. The first few wanted to be my friend, then they got to be only a few years older and they thought that it was good to play mother."

"My dad married an eighteen year old last year, five years younger than me."

"Eh, that is…"

"Yeah it is. So you've got one last question."

"You too, you want to go first?"

Spike shook his head, "Ladies first."

Buffy looked at him and the plates that represented all that they demolished. She was actually having a good time. She knew that it had to end, but the one hour she had spent with him was of little difference to two, so why not.

"Do you want to go for a drive?"

That feeling rolled over to him. He wanted to drown in her, he wanted to find out why she just couldn't see that she was perfect. He wanted to have her on his arm to brag to the world. He wanted to hide her in the darkness of a hotel room and forget that anything existed outside of her eyes.

What he said was, "Yes."

Ten minutes later. BMW up the CA coast.

"So you have one more question," Buffy said.

She was leaning back on the leather seats. The top of the car was down and her hair was flying everywhere. He couldn't see her eyes, but he was willing to bet that her eyes were closed. He thanked god that he had borrowed Ripper's car instead of taking his Desoto. Well he didn't actually borrow as much as take the keys.

Spike didn't feel like asking yet.

"Nah, we'll wait until your question is over," Spike said. He reached over and put in a tape. The rhythm of the three chords vibrated through the car. He looked over at her and she had that little smile on her face. That smile that didn't seem to know that other people were looking at her.

For a little while they drove in silence. It wasn't uncomfortable or awkward. It just was nice to be driving up Route One in the silence of the blaring music.

"Oh a fair," Buffy said sitting up, turning off the music, "Take the next exit."

"You're four."

She looked at him and smiled coyly, " Afraid of finding an angry slide? Drive me home if you don't want to go."

He sighed and pulled off the highway and drove to the fair. They walked in and it seemed only natural that Buffy took his arm. He looked down at her in surprise, but she was entranced by the smells.

"Cotton Candy, Fried dough, and candy apples," She sighed.

"How can you eat anymore," His eyes raked down her little body, "Where are you going to put it."

She snuggled into him, "Hey this is my day that doesn't exist. I can do what I want. Besides you're never going to see me again so if I get fat you won't have to deal with me."

He ran his hand over her face and her eyes got that lost look again, as if she wasn't pulling away and that scared her. He kissed her forehead and then dragged her to the nearest booth before he could see the look in her eyes.

"So we eat treats and then go on the rides?" Spike asked as he got her the deep fried dough.

"Sugar goodness and the first one who pukes looses," Buffy said taking a huge bite of the confection. She smacked her lips, "God I didn't know that anything could taste this good."

"You're peculiar," Spike watched her, "Have you never had it before?"

Buffy shook her head, "I can't remember it. I started shunning fried and sugar when I was ten, Cordelia announced that we would have none of that in her house or at any table that she was at. I think she did it to piss off a step mother, but it stuck."

After hearing this appalling news Spike had to feed her as much as humanly possible. Then they went on fast rides and rides that seemed to be only constructed to see if people will hurl up everything that they had ever eaten.

After six rides they both were looking kind of green, but neither said die. They went on two more of the fast whipping rides. Buffy held on to Spike and looked desperately for something to distract them.

"Oh ring toss," Buffy exclaimed, "We used to play this at the boardwalk."

"So you didn't have sugar, but your parents would take you to the boardwalk?"

Buffy shook her head adamantly, "No, my nanny."

"You're weird."

"I think you covered that."

Spike went over to the ring toss and paid the man. He held out the rings to her. She practically skipped to the booth.

"I'm really good at this," she told him.

"Right," Spike said disbelievingly. He became a believer slowly as she continued to throw the rings on to the impossibly large rungs.

"Okay, can you do the baseball thing?" Spike asked.

"Of course."

Buffy went on to hit the target every time.

"Now I'm impressed, you're a carnie and a debutant."

"What do we do with these," Buffy asked motioning to the small pile of plush toys that they had accumulated.

Spike grinned and grabbed them. A tired looking mother was walking with a crowd of children. Spike squatted down and talked nicely to the children and handed out the bears. Buffy watched as the big scary punk rocker spoke to the children and gave them the toys. The mother looked wary, but the children were eating him up.

Spike said his good bye and turned to Buffy. She was laughing at him.

"I'm so going to blackmail you."

"Sorry pet, today doesn't exist and you are never going to see me again."

He took her hand and whirled into the crowd.

Suddenly this wasn't as much fun for Buffy. Suddenly the thought of never seeing him again made her sad. This day was perfect.

"Oh my god," she realized, "It s almost four, I have to be at dinner with Angel and his mother in two hours."

Spike sighed and pulled out a cigarette for the first time today.

"C'mon pet, well get you home."

Buffy followed him and suddenly she wanted to cry. The drive home included no talking. Spike pulled the car into the lot where Buffy's car was parked. Spike held her arm.

"I've got one more question," Spike said.

She looked at him, but his face was a mask. There was no emotion in her eyes. The only thing that belied the fact that she was alive was the fact that the vein in his jaw was rapidly jumping.

He leaned into her, he touched her face.

"Do you feel this? Do you feel something?"

Buffy couldn't lie to him, she could lie to herself and say that she didn't feel anything that it was just physical, but with him watching her she couldn't lie.

"Yes," she whispered and got out of his car.

Spike watched her leave. He didn't feel the anger this time. It was only time. She could walk away, but she wasn't leaving.


	6. Present: Another Home Past: Cordelia

Now. Finn Household.

Buffy walked down the hallway with the bags she had packed. She paused to look at the picture in the entryway. The picture was of her wedding day. She stood next to Riley and he was smiling. She had a smile too, but there was something distant in her eyes. Her wedding day had been a blur, she hadn't thought much about Riley that day. Her thoughts had been full of another blonde on another wedding day.

She ran her finger along the edge of the frame. Xander's words from their conversation earlier this evening came back.

"Riley knows."

"What?"

"He knows that you don't love him."

Buffy closed her eyes and put her head against the steering wheel.

"How long?"

"_Remember when we were moving you guys in to the house? We were packing up and he told me that he knew that you didn't love him."_

"_That was before the wedding," Buffy muttered._

"_Yeah, he didn't say anything, for so long I thought that I had imagined him saying that, but he knew that there was someone you thought about. For a while he thought it was Angel, your relationship with him was publicized all those years ago. Most people didn't know about you and Spike."_

"_What happened?"_

"_Remember how you never wanted us to call you Buffy."_

"_Uh-huh," Buffy said believing that she had kept her secret so well. She had been so private._

_Xander went on, "well we were watching the game one night and I called you Buffy."_

_Buffy held on to denial as if it were her best friend, "Buffy isn't so strange of a name, how could he link me to Spike?"_

_Buffy could hear Xander rolling his eyes, "Well Buffy isn't so normal. Besides Buffy's Song is a punk power ballad. I think everyone in this world has heard that song about five hundred times."_

"_He never said anything. I don't think he knew."_

"_Buff, he knew about Willow and Oz, he isn't stupid, and he can put two and two together."_

"_He's always known," Buffy whispered, "He never said anything. He married me and he knew. Why?"_

Buffy looked around the house and she was answered. He stayed because she had made this home into something out of a movie. She had given him a life that was, to any outward eye, perfect.

She had buried herself here, but it wasn't real.

She picked up her cell phone and dialed a number.

"Giles, Wyndam, and Pryce," the prim voice on the other end of the line said.

"Gwen, let me talk to Wes," Buffy sighed.

"Mrs. Finn, I must remind you to address me as Ms. Post."

"Gwen, let me talk to Wes," Buffy growled.

Gwendolyn Post clucked her tongue, but transferred the phone.

"Can you not piss her off every time you call," Wesley said to her.

"You're not the boss of me," Buffy said with a lightness she didn't feel.

"No," Wesley replied, "I am however the lawyer of you. What are you calling for now?"

"I need you to start with divorce preceding."

She said it quietly and she could hear Wes cleaning his glasses.

"Buffy this is…"

"What I want," she finished firmly.

"Think very carefully," Wes warned, "I have spent the last four years putting up a barrier between the two of you. Do you really want to undo all of that?"

Buffy looked at her house of light. It wasn't hers. Nothing had ever been hers.

"Wes, I won't lie to him anymore. I won't lie to anyone anymore," Buffy said softly.

"Then it will be done."

Buffy hung up the phone.

She looked around the house. Then she took her bags and walked out.

&

Then. That night. Cordelia's apartment.

Buffy walked down the hallway to Cordelia's apartment. Her purse trailed from one hand and her other hand held her shoes.

She stood in front of the door and hit her head on the door.

Tonight had been agonizing. Angel was his usual charming self and his mother was her usual fake self.

It didn't matter that she kept seeing Spike. She had walked away from him so many times and each time was getting more and more difficult. Today she had walked away from his car and it had begun to hurt. It was like she was leaving part of herself behind.

Her plan had backfired, she was becoming more attracted to him.

Cordelia opened her door and held out ginger sorbet and a glass of wine. She didn't say anything, just turned to go to the living room.

"How was dinner with the Oedipal pair?"

Buffy plopped down on Cordelia's plush couch. She took a sip of the dry white wine and began to eat the sorbet.

"I mean I love Angel and all," Cordelia said and began to eat, "But Darla and Angel are almost incestuous in their devotion."

Buffy nodded and Cordelia went on, "It is one thing to love your mother, but those two are touchy feel-y, it is kind of scary. Oh did I tell you Xander and I are not talking again. We blame you."

Buffy shrugged.

Smacked her lips, "We went to lunch and we're sitting there in the middle of this crowded restaurant. Xander starts goofing off, I was so embarrassed, but he kept talking about Devon and my propensity towards losers. I mean Xander Harris is telling me about losers. How can he chide me about losers, does he know what he is. If I hadn't had a urge towards losers he would still be at that hot dog stand. Not that Devon is a looser, but no…"

Cordelia trailed off as she watched her sister.

"Buff, what's wrong," Cordelia said putting the sorbet on the coffee table. She put her arms around Buffy.

Buffy didn't look up, "Cordy, have you ever wanted anything?"

Cordelia thought for a moment. She thought of shoes that she had to have that now lived in her closet, she thought about the dresses that she would die for and wore once. Cordelia had wanted things, but it was just a second before she got them. Possessions were easily obtained, people were charmed in a matter of minutes.

Cordelia put her head on Buffy's shoulder.

"I've desired things," Buffy went on, "I have wanted Angel. I wanted him because there were always so many reasons that I shouldn't have it. I was with him through the fact that he thought that I was too young, I was with him when he got famous and started acting up. I was with him and I've always been his girl, but I never really wanted him. He was just there."

Buffy looked up at Cordelia, and tears were in her eyes.

"I've never really given myself over to caring too much. I've never met anything that meant anything to me that I could loose. Now I am afraid of loosing."

Cordelia petted her head, "Baby are you afraid that you are going to loose Angel."

Buffy shook her head and tears began to fall, "I'm afraid that I'm going to make the wrong decision and I'm going to end up with the wrong thing. I'm afraid I'm going to marry angel and be unhappy."

"You just have cold feet."

Buffy shook her head, "I walk into a room and I know he's there. Every time I speak to him, see him, I give him another piece of me. afraid that I'm going to loose myself or a normal life or him."

"Who are you talking about?"

Buffy looked up defiantly, "You know."

Cordelia got up off of the couch and turned on her sister, "You can't be serious. You're going to give up a posh house with a gorgeous star for a two bit punk."

"His record is selling," Buffy felt the need to defend.

"Buffy this is just fear, this isn't real."

"You're dating Devon,"

"No I'm fucking Devon, there is a huge difference. I am not in anyway thinking that he is a romantic entanglement. He's momentary. I am going to marry well and I'm not going to throw away my future for a musician."

"You're not like this," Buffy defied, "I know you and you aren't this shallow."

"I can afford to be all non-choosy in everyday life, this is your future."

"You are so not my mother."

"Oh honey you are so wrong. Where did you go when you had bad dreams? Who took care of you? I have been the closest thing you have to a mother, unless one of those bimbos dad brought home somehow meant anything to you."

Buffy studied her sister, they were considered twins, but her older sister had always babied her. Buffy could do anything and Cordelia would clean up any kind of mess that she left behind, Cordelia was the caretaker. Under the pretty little girl, Buffy could see the woman who would do anything for those she loved.

"Then what about Xander?" Buffy asked.

"What? What does Xander have to do with any of this?"

"He's not a puppy that you brought home, you have never made him anything above his pedigree. You like the fact that he's uncouth. He's everything that you shun, but if he would come home tomorrow and say that he was marrying Faith you would grab him and throw him in a bed until he forgot about everything else."

"What are you talking about."

"You've never had anything to lose either, if there was a chance that you were going to loose Xander you would jump right in to claim him. I am just like you. This is something I want, no, this is something I need. I will not loose this, I'm a Chase."

And Buffy realized that her bravado was talking her into something that was about to fracture her life.

"Oh my god," Buffy said palling, "I think I like him."

"I'm not going to say I told you so when you come crying home in a few months," Cordelia said giving Buffy a hug, "You're jus scared. Don't make a mistake."

Buffy tried not to think so.

"Buffy, give it a couple of more weeks with Angel, you'll see that is where you're meant to be."

Buffy didn't lie, but she didn't say anything at all.


	7. Past:Out her WindowUnder Her tree

She had spent the week with Angel. He was leaving to go to another set and though the week had been full of laughter and grand evenings out, Buffy was feeling restless. She had kissed Angel good-bye three hours ago and the feeling doubled.

Buffy roamed around the house. It was white and stone. There was a huge fireplace that dominated the living room. Buffy sat at the fireplace and looked in the cavern where the cinders would have sat, if Angel wasn't so anal retentive about cleanliness. She could have stood up in the fireplace. Sometimes when the fire was burning on the balmy California nights, Buffy found that she couldn't get warm. She wanted to crawl into the fireplace and see if that would alter her temperature.

Angel was always there though. He was her sentry to keep her away from the fire. She wouldn't be consumed as he read Sartre because he was there. He had been there from the time she was a naive teen until now. He had always kept her from going to far. Some of her contemporaries had fallen into things too far; they had all gone too far away from the posh life that they had been born to.

Buffy had never gone to far. She had always been safe from t he fire.

Until she had found something in a smoky loud room of a bar. She had found a fire that could consume her.

She pulled herself away from the fireplace. She backed away and ran to the bedroom. She closed the door and leaned against it. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She looked at the bedroom with the large high bed that always made her feel insignificant when Angel was gone. It was just too big.

And she knew that it wasn't hers.

Buffy changed into her pajamas. She put on the blue flannel pants, a tank top, and a sweatshirt. The night was warm, but she couldn't stop shivering. It was cold.

Buffy sat in the bed for a while, but sleep wouldn't come. She wasn't comfortable, she wasn't safe. Angel wasn't here to guard her from the empty feeling that always surrounded her lately.

With a sigh Buffy got up and stared out of the window at the full moon. She wished she had gone out with Cordelia, but she was too tired of smiling. She didn't want to risk being with him.

She looked down at her yard and for a minute she thought she was seeing things.

He was standing there under a tree in her yard. His black duster was billowing and he was smoking a cigarette. He was just standing there looking up at her.

She smiled as she watched her apparition. The moonlight softened his features and made his eyes were dark. She leaned into the window and looked down at him

Then she realized that she would never fantasize that he had a huge swollen hand.

Suddenly she shot upright and pulled her sweatshirt tighter. He waved and turned to leave. With a speed that would have impressed a cheetah she sprinted from her room to the front door.

"Stalking me now," she yelled to the retreating figure.

He stopped and turned around. He held both hands out to his side.

"Of course," he spat out, "You're such a charmer, and I wanted to catch you in your knickers."

"I called the cops," she said her chin high, "You better leave."

He snickered and came closer to her.

"You called the cops?" He raised an eyebrow, "And you had time to call the cops when? In the four seconds it took you to get downstairs?"

"We have a button," she said matching his arrogant smile, "You press, and instant cops."

"Course you do."

"I do."

"Sure James Bond," he started to walk away.

"Wait," she said.

"What?" he said turning around.

"Why were you under my tree?"

"I wanted to say good-bye and once here I realized that I don't relish the thought of running into your poofter."

"You were just in the neighborhood and you decided to stop by?" she said sarcastically.

"Actually I was," he said ginning at her, "Devon took us to a party two houses up."

"Good-bye?" she said weakly, registering what he was saying.

He looked down at her, "Yeah goodbye princess. I'm going to go on tour with the band tomorrow night and as much fun as our illicit affair is, I really don't want to be your little piece on the side once you're married. A man has his pride."

Buffy snorted, but he just looked at her. She felt as if she was being drunk in, she felt as if he was trying to remember her.

That made her feel immensely sad.

He nodded and the spell was broke, "So then, good-bye."

He turned and the cold seeped in.

"Wait," she said again and it sounded like a plea.

"What," he sighed, turning around. He knew he was going to regret this, "Don't like being on the receiving end of leaving? Look I'm going to go I'm tired of waiting for you to suss out why you keep coming round."

"You're the one who showed up under my tree," Buffy pointed out.

"And you're the one who finds me irresistible and keeps calling me back. Make up your mind. I'm tired of being jerked."

"Right, I'll be your piece on the side while you go screw groupies next week. I think not."

She prepared herself for a sharp retort. Instead he came closer shaking his head, he stopped in front of her.

"I have enough groupies, if I wanted one of them I could. I'm here because of you."

Buffy gave him a disbelieving look.

"You want proof. I'd marry you tonight."

He cupped her face so she couldn't look away.

"I'd grab my Bassist and his girl and I'd let you call your sis and the Whelp. I'd find a plane and get us all to Vegas."

He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I'd stand up in front of Elvis and our best mates and promise only you."

He pulled away angrily as if she had the capacity to say anything. She swore that she once inhabited her body, but now she was too shocked. No one ever said anything like that to her before.

""Hell, I know this kid who could write you up a pre-nump that would mean that I couldn't touch a tube of toothpaste that was yours, never mind your bloody fortune."

Buffy watched him almost pace as he pulled out a cigarette, "I don't care that you're supposed to marry the king of brood in a month. But the thought of you being his when I get back is bloody miserable. You know why? Because I can't stop thinking of you. You were dancing there so alive and you made me feel something. I never thought that I would feel anything again and I will be damned if I just let you waltz away."

"You hardly know me," Buffy whispered, holding her years with Angel as a meaning of love. Love is time and love is being with someone forever.

He stopped. He took a drag. He exhaled. He threw the cigarette away.

"Love isn't brains," he said as if it was the only true thing in the world, "Love is heart and love is what you feel. There is no logic and it isn't always happy. Love is the feeling when you look in someone else's eyes."

He stood before her and put his hand on her heart.

"What do you feel here."

She looked at him with luminous green eyes. She couldn't answer.

He pulled his hands away and put them in his pockets, "I know what I feel. I feel like I'm a going crazy. I feel like if I'm not touching you I'm cold and dead inside."

Buffy's lip began to quiver and Spike rocked on his heels.

"You want to hear the nancy boy words? I bet Angel tells you all those sweet things that you want to hear. He tells you that look nice. He tells you you're perfect and graceful and charming. He looks at you like you're a doll. Well you're not any of those. You're too skinny, you're vain, you are completely self absorbed, and you have stupid hair."

Buffy opened her mouth and her hands went up to hair. She wasn't expecting that.

Spike looked down and sighed.

"Do you really want me to say it."

She looked up with the only bit of self-respect she still had, "Don't do me any favors."

And then he was kissing her. His hands were touching her and burning her where ever the felt. Buffy grabbed him by the back of his head so he couldn't pull away. This wasn't right but, Buffy pulled herself closer to him. Wherever he wasn't touching her felt numb and cold.

Buffy kissed him until she should have died from lack of oxygen. He pulled away slightly and rested his forehead on hers. His lips were barely away.

"I love you Buffy and you'd make me the happiest man in the world if you'd marry me."

Buffy stayed in that moment. She kept her eyes closed and the still of the night surrounded them.

After too much time passed he pulled away and laughed, "And now I'm going to go and drink away the fact that I was such a poncy nancy boy."

He didn't look at her he strode away.

"Yes," she whispered.

He stopped. She had said it too softly for him to actually hear it. She looked at his back. His shoulders were taut and he turned around slowly.

"What?"

Buffy tried to smile, but she was too terrified of what she was doing.

"No one ever waited until I answered. My dad, Angel, Cordy, they all just tell me where I am supposed to go and what I am supposed to do."

He growled, "I'm not taking you without you wanting it. I'm not wanting to be something that you regret."

She bit her lip, "You do know you have horrible timing."

He rolled his eyes, "Can you bloody well tell me no? I have some serious drinking to do."

She walked to him and titled her head. She smiled and her lip trembled, "Did you change your mind."

"What is your answer," he asked hoarsely.

She smiled at him, "Yes."


End file.
